


Noctball

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28660449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: And thus the crown madeth sports.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Noctball

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Read [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28661256) after for more Noctball.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“Can I invite Prompto?” Noctis adds as they pass through the tall doors of the Citadel, crossing the lobby on their way to the backdoor—he would’ve been perfectly fine playing in any old field, but then, he would’ve been perfectly fine just staying at the university. They have half a dozen sports teams there, any of which he would’ve joined if not for the fun than just to make some more actual friends, but of course the crown is all over that and refuses to let him. He’s endured too many lectures from Ignis to not know why. He just disagrees. But he never gets his way where his title’s involved, so if that means playing a mysterious sport in a cleared-out training yard normally reserved for—and probably still guarded by—glaives, so be it. 

Gladiolus says, “Sure,” but there’s that extra lilt to it again. The right side of his mouth has been quirked up all morning, like he’s doing everything he can to repress a smirk. It can’t be at Noctis’ expense. He already endured a light round of training—just jogging around the royal parking lot and a few pushups—and Gladiolus has already had ample opportunity to say whatever joke he’s holding in. The other shoe won’t drop. Noctis gives up squinting suspiciously in favour of whipping out his phone, but Gladiolus adds, “You might wanna play a few rounds by yourself before you call him.”

The squinting intensifies. “Why?” He doesn’t need to do anything without Prompto. Or Ignis. But when Ignis refused to tag along. He said he wasn’t into sports, even though he’d undoubtedly be amazing at anything he tried. Which reminds Noctis to ask again, “Seriously, what’re we gonna play?”

“Alright, screw it. It’s a new thing, okay? The council designed it just for you. So... maybe you should get some practice in before you go racking up witnesses.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, it all makes sense. The secrecy: Ignis couldn’t answer his questions about the arrangement because Ignis didn’t _know_ ; it’s all brand new. And Gladiolus has been acting like a man with a surprise because he has one. And it’s going to go down in the Citadel so no one else sees and steals the idea for the sport until Noctis is ready to release it to the mainstream, when he’s well rehearsed and the number one best player. 

Normally, he doesn’t care about his reputation and thinks the council’s a bunch of pompous old assholes for caring, but this time, he has to admit, it’s actually kind of _cool_. A whole new sport. Just for him. Finally, an honour with actual street cred. 

He’s totally going to call Prompto five minutes in anyway, because if he’s going to be the best player, Prompto’s going to be the second best, and if it’s a team sport, he wants Prompto on his team. Then Ignis. Then _maybe_ Gladiolus if he wipes the smirk off his face. Noctis doesn’t need to play with a bunch of glaives on his father’s payroll to become the champion. 

They cross another courtyard, duck under an archway, and exit into a wide field of neatly-mowed grass surrounded by marble walls. There’s a door on the opposite end that Noctis knows leads to a changing room and several doorways exiting to other training yards. Gladiolus comes to a stop, and Noctis does too, looking eagerly around for whatever equipment will adorn the new Noctis-Ball or whatever it is. 

There’s exactly one pillow on either end of the field and absolutely nothing else. Two glaives stand waiting—burly women Noctis doesn’t recognize aside from their all-black uniforms. They’re both holding paper fans. 

Gladiolus makes a noise like a man desperately trying to hold in laughter. Then he gestures forward and explains, “So... this is the only sport you’re sanctioned to play. _Your Highness._ ”

Noctis’ head snaps around to his shield, whose mouth is practically a cartoon squiggly line. Gladiolus swallows another snort and continues.

“It can be played one-on-one or in teams. You each get a fan, and... and the goal is to... to blow the feather onto your opponent’s pillow...” He takes a deep breath and adds, “This is a no-contact sport and can only be played on soft grass.”

Noctis stares at him.

“But... but...”

He looks back at the field. He keeps expecting a ball to roll out of a crevice somewhere, and then giant nets or hoops to swoop in from the sides, and a dozen sexy hunks to march out in short-shorts. One of the glaives coughs and asks, “Should we demonstrate, Your Highness?”

No. Noctis knows how to waft a freaking _feather_.

“But... I train with _swords_ and I can warp and—”

“Yeah, but I’m sworn not to murder you,” Gladiolus reasons. “Whereas anything could happen in a real sport. They can get so messy. May as well keep safe.”

“ _Safe_?” Noctis splutters, while Gladiolus controls himself long enough to reach into his pocket and withdraw a small brown feather, holding it out in his giant palm for Noctis to take. Except Noctis doesn’t. “It’s not safe, it’s _lame_! It’s like... the _lamest!_ It’s even lamer than being totally awesome at this kinda thing and not being able to do anything at all!” It doesn’t even matter if joining an actual sports team would probably be work and more involved than he wants. He wanted _fun_. There’s no way frantically fanning a feather could be fun. 

Gladiolus seems to be struggling too hard to speak. He tries to shove the feather at Noctis, and Noctis, glaring daggers, eventually snatches it up.

He storms over to the two waiting glaives, blushing a hot red and resolving to _never_ tell Prompto of this shame, while Gladiolus finally snaps and laughs loud enough to wake the dead.


End file.
